Secrets
by ShawnLassiter56
Summary: Everyone has a secret. A past life. A scarring mistake. Nothing can be erased, and it'll haunt you until you tell. These secrets are coming back to the 30 Rock characters, and they can't hide them anymore.
1. Princess Ceriana

**Disclaimer: I don't own 30 Rock.**

**This is my first 30 Rock fic, so be nice! I decided to start this story with a chapter from my girl Cerie's POV. Enjoy!**

Princess Ceriana Fiore is my name.

Or Cerie Altimont, depending on who you ask.

You may be wondering, then why are you an intern in New York? To that I shall say, I'm not. I'm the Princess of Seychelles.

It all started at daddy's ball that he was throwing to celebrate my stepmother's birthday. It was a nightmare. Ridiculous "socialites" everywhere, all trying to get on my father, King Henri's, good side. He was aging and everyone wanted a place on his will. These vultures were making me sick, so I decided to take a brief stroll around the castle, to cool down and whatnot.

I climbed the stairs to my bedroom. When I opened the door, my chambermaid was being viciously stabbed to death. The stabber: my grandfather. Everyone thought he was dead, the fact that he had gone insane and had spent the last 10 years locked away was only known by me and my father. It was a family secret. How he got out still remains a mystery to me.

When he saw me, he fled out the window. My chambermaid, a wisp of a girl, not more than 16, lay dead on the ground.

O00oo00oo00O

Testifying was easy. What my grandfather had done was horrific, he needed to be punished. But after testifying, I knew I wasn't safe. He was still considered a powerful man, and his followers would kill me.

So I moved to New York. The city of bright lights and dreams. I went by the name Cerie Altimont. It wasn't hard to find a decent life there, the city is populated by idiotic perverts, and, well, I'm pretty damn hot. I flirted my way into The Girlie Show writers' room, which was stupidly easy. My boss, Liz Lemon, was a total pushover, so I barely even had to work.

I pushed an ugly, American accent down my throat every time I spoke, and I brought my voice up an octave so I would sound confused. Being sexy and stupid was the best way to have people see me as a non-threatening girl, so I played that angle to death. It all feels normal now. I've lost my accent completely, I don't own anymore ball gowns and dignified clothing, and my voice is much higher and breathier than it was before.

If anyone finds out that Cerie Altimont is a figment of my imagination, I'm screwed. My grandfather has spies everywhere, and they haven't given up on the lost Princess Ceriana of Seychelles. Not by a long shot.


	2. The Haunting Hippie

**Disclaimer: I don't own 30 Rock.**

**This chapter is from Jack's POV. Enjoy and review! This chapter is going to be upgraded to a T, for language.**

My name is Jack Donaghy, and I'm an accomplice to murder.

Not a murderer, mind you, just an accomplice. The murderess was my ex-wife, Avery Jessup. We were enjoying our Sunday afternoon stroll through Strawberry Fields (where we kick hacky-sacks into the bushes) when a hippie stole her purse. We chased him for a mile until we came out onto the street, where the son of a bitch blended right in. We mistook a different hippie for the thief and grabbed his purse. (Don't ask what was inside. Just don't.)

He screamed bloody murder that we were mugging him, so we ran again. We ran until we reached our apartment, in which we _hoped_ we would find a little order. No such luck.

Before I get to this part, let me describe the contents of Avery's purse:

-A makeup kit which was valued at 2,000,000,000. (It just happened to be the same kit used by Nancy Reagan.)

-A bottle of super-hold hairspray. (A lend from our good friend

Sarah Palin. The FBI will pay a lot of money for it, being that it holds the only set of her fingerprints that can link her to...I mean, Sarah's not a criminal.)

-A "Pantsuit-in-a-Box". (Avery invented this nifty little device. At the press of a button, a 4x4" cube opens into a weeks worth of pantsuits. It goes for $5,000 per box. The woman's a genius.)

-A pair of Christian Louboutins. (In case of unexpected heel-breakage. Christian Louboutins go for about $1,000 for a pair.)

-The purse itself, a Prada tote that she had bought for $1,870.

With that being said, I will proceed. We found the hippie taping a ransom note to our door about the purse. He claimed that he would give it to us if we gave him a cameo on 3 NBC primetime shows, plus Avery had to interview him on MSNBC.

She looked at me with anger in her eyes. "I will _**not **_interview a hippie, Jack." Little did I know how stubbornly she would stand by this.

She cornered him in our apartment beside a window. She sweet-talked him while she casually unlatched the window. Then, she pushed him out. He dropped, from our 32nd floor apartment to the street.

"Jack." Avery whimpered with shock in her eyes. "Why do I keep forgetting that I don't live in my first floor apartment anymore? I was just trying to get rid of him. He's dead." She closed her eyes and screamed, "DAMNIT, JESSUP! NO TEARS!"

And she didn't cry. She remained calm and made me swear not to tell anyone. Then, we carried on. Life went on. But still, that hippie haunts me.

I'll never escape him.

**I'm sorry if I offended any Sarah Palin supporters, I'm just riffing off of the show's beliefs. **


	3. Angels

**Disclaimer: I don't own 30 Rock.**

**Here's a chapter from Kenneth's POV. Enjoy and review!**

**Warning: HUGE SPOILERS FOR HOGCOCK/ LAST LUNCH!**

My name is Ezriel.

I am an angel.

I didn't want to come down to Earth. I liked Heaven, but Bella made me go to New York. Bella is my guardian angel. Not to be confused with that peculiar expression that humans have. It's like what you would call a "mother".

Bella told me that there were 3 people that needed an angel very badly: Elizabeth Lemon, Jack Francis Donaghy, and Tracy Jordan. They all worked in a place called 30 Rock. This was home to a corporation called the National Broadcasting Company.

She told me my identification would be Kenneth Ellen Parcell; a young man from Stone Mountain, Georgia. Kenneth would be the most innocent man on earth. He would be everything that Elizabeth, Jack and Tracy were not. He would be relaxed for Liz, kind for Jack and pure for Tracy.

Kenneth was my first assignment. He became the president of NBC, and left his projects in stellar shape: Liz became a wife and mother of 2, Tracy had a daughter and became purer than ever, and Jack was left a thriving CEO and father. Every once and a while, on my monthly visit to New York, I see their beautiful children playing together. Terry showing off his lizard, Janet twirling around and trying to get everyone's attention, Liddy bargaining with Virginia about who gets the biggest cracker.

Now I am on an assignment in California. I'm working on a handful of actors. I miss 30 Rock sometimes, but I'm happy they have moved on without me. Jack is in his third marriage (hint: his lucky lady has bright red hair and used to have a Boston accent). Liz and her husband Criss are happy and relaxed. Tracy and his wife Angie are happy and in love.

I did what I could.


End file.
